Can't Catch a Break
by Loke Groundrunner
Summary: Snake's trying to enjoy a peaceful day-off, but he keeps getting rudely interrupted. A story about a man, his bag of kettle corn and the day from hell.


The room was dark, that's all I knew, other than the fact that I could feel my hands tied behind my back and my head was pounding like a drum. Those guards must've hit me pretty hard. It seemed like this was going to be another standard secret ops mission; get in, collect the data, knock out a few guards, get out, live to fight another day.

But that wasn't the case this time. I'm getting too old for this stuff.

Out of the shadows, a man emerged. He had short blonde hair and a face set like iron. This all seems so familiar to me.

"Were you really that stupid to think that cardboard box would conceal you?" He asked me in a cold voice.

"…."

"Who do you work for?" he asked me, much colder this time.

He seemed annoyed by my silence, so I spat in his face. He wiped the saliva from his face and continued, undeterred: "Who do you work for?"

I like this guy. He doesn't waste time with pointless questions; he goes straight for the gold. But I'm a man of honor; I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of making me talk that easily.

"…."

He seemed annoyed now; I couldn't help but smile a little. He reached into one of his pants pockets and pulled something out. "Maybe this'll loosen your lips."

In the dim light I could see that the object he held in his hands was a cordless drill. He stuck the drill in my left arm and pressed the trigger.

I really need to find a new job.

"GAAAAAH!"

* * *

"Awesome!" said Solid Snake in awe, watching as Jack Bauer was drilling into the mercenary's arm. Snake was sitting on his chewed-up, tobacco-stained sofa inside his practically termite-free, lakefront log cabin in western Maine.

It was his weekend off. No missions, no brawls, no annoying codec buzzing in his ears, no villains to kill, no world-threatening crises to stop. It was just him, his bag of kettle corn and syndicated reruns of 24.

Snake, who was dressed in camouflage pajamas and fuzzy pink bunny slippers, threw some kettle corn into his mouth. The mercenary was now gasping in pain from his drilling.

"Are you ready to talk yet?" asked Jack, preparing to resume drilling.

"Do your worst," said the mercenary, wincing in pain.

As Jack began to resume his craftsmanship, the doorbell rang. Snake sighed wearily and pulled himself up. As he walked to his front door, he wondered if maybe he should change to some more masculine slippers, but they were all at the dry-cleaner. It served as a powerful reminder to never to let Pikachu use your closet as a restroom.

Snake opened the door and there stood a young boy with blonde hair, mysteriously styled like Elvis'. Could a black ops group be manufacturing clones of the King of Rock n' Roll? Snake would have to look into that.

Anyway, Lucas stood on the front porch of Snake's log cabin. He looked pretty intimidated by Snake's towering figure.

"Um, Mr. Snake?" he asked timidly.

"Yeah, kid?" asked Snake in his low, growling voice.

"Um, I-I-I-I-" The poor kid stammered.

"Come one, I don't have all day."

"Uh," said Lucas, taking a deep breath, "My parents, they were wondering if you were doing anything tonight, because they cooked oxtail stew." He laughed a little nervously. "Sorry I was stammering like that."

"Hey, that's okay," said Snake. "You don't have to afraid of me. I wouldn't hurt a fly." As they talked, a fly flew onto Snake's left leg. Snake shook his fist angrily at the fly. "I'LL TEACH YOU, YOU FILTHY--!" Snake looked down at Lucas, shook the fly grudgingly off his pant leg and laughed quitely. "Yeah, that's right. Wouldn't hurt a fly."

"YARRRGH!" Inside the house, a sickening splat was coupled with that scream, hinting that Jack drilled one of the mercenary's eyes.

"Aw nuts!" complained Snake as he stuck his head back inside to see the scene of graphic violence. He turned back to Lucas.

"Yeah, sure kid. I'll be over tonight." He reached into his pajamas and pulled out a pipe bomb. He handed it to Lucas and patted him on the head.

"And have yourself a Merry Christmas."

"Christmas was four months ago! That's when you killed Santa, you big meanie!"

"Hey, I couldn't help it," said Snake, raising his hands helplessly. "I thought he was an agent of Al Qaeda out to ruin Christmas!"

"That doesn't matter, you still killed Santa!" Insisted Lucas, his eyes were wide and watery.

"What? You don't think Ganondorf's a decent replacement? He's got a beard, he laughs a lot and he likes kids."

"He gave me a potato for a present and he kidnapped my brother!"

Snake shrugged. "It's not my problem. Maybe they've got an elf shortage at the North Pole."

You see, after Snake accidentally mowed down Santa with his submachine gun and was beaten up Kung Fu-style by the reindeer, Ganondorf moved on in to the North Pole and married Mrs, Claus (The foxiest 109-year-old as voted by the readers of Chillin' Magazine), who he had his eye on for some time. Marrying Mrs. Claus technically made him Santa's heir, thus saving Christmas.

Lucas then said goodbye and headed back to his own house, pipe bomb in hand. Watching the boy made Snake reflect on the innocence of childhood, how quickly does it fade! How Snake wished he was young again.

Lucas now was in front of his own house, playing with his dog, Boney. What a heart-warming scene it was; Lucas tossed the pipe bomb to his dog. Boney brought the bomb back to Lucas; the boy scratched the dog behind his ears and hugged him. Snake smiled at the tender scene.

Sadly, a moment later, both the boy and his dog were consumed by a massive ball of fire.

Snake put his hands behind his back, whistled innocently and walked back inside.

He plopped himself back on the sofa, picked up his bag of kettle corn and resumed watching 24. The gory torture scene was over, now Jack Bauer was getting into an annoying cell phone conversation with one of his fellow CTU agents.

Once again, the doorbell rang. Snake silently cursed himself, realizing that he should've shot that thing months ago.

He put down his kettle corn and pulled himself off the sofa. He walked to the front door and opened it. Luigi stood on Snake's porch with his Poltergust 3000 strapped on his back. He was holding a piece of paper.

"Hello, Snake." said Luigi in a forced, formal monotone. "May I please take a moment of your time to talk to you about the benefits of Gadd Cleaning Services?"

Snake rolled his eyes. "Knock yourself out. It's not like I've got anything better to do."

Luigi held up the sheet of paper and cleared his throat.

"'One of the many benefits of Gadd Cleaning Services is that we do all the simple, menial tasks that you're too lazy to do yourself. The following are just some of the scintillating services that our skilled contractors, such as myself, provide.'"

Luigi cleared his throat again. Snake tapped his foot impatiently. Reaching into one of his pajama bottom's pockets, he pulled out a small capsule and hid it in the palm of his right hand.

"'Tub and Tile Cleaning, Steaming Cleaning, Steamed Vegetable Cleaning, Dusting, Optional Ghost Removal, Vacuuming, Vent Cleaning, Hair Ball Removal-"

Suddenly, Luigi felt a hand go over his mouth. In vain he attempted to cry for help, but it came out as a muffled choke as he felt something fall into his throat.

After a minute of thrashing, the plumber fell asleep; then Snake eased Luigi to the ground. He dragged Luigi's unconscious body into the bushes outside his house; he figured if the plumber didn't wake up in a couple hours when the sleeping pill wore off, a hungry family of wolves would drag him off. It was a win-win scenario.

So once again, Snake went back inside his lonely log cabin to continue watching 24. Maybe Jack had dropped in and out of CTU ten times in the last five minutes.

Solid Snake threw himself on his filthy sofa, picked up his afore, afore, aforementioned kettle corn, tossed some into his mouth and tried to watch his show. This day was getting about as annoying as when Johnny Sasaki had to use the toilet.

Now Jack Bauer was shooting it out with some terrorists while he carried a laptop under his arm. This was what real television was, no sappy chick-crap, no overdone, faked medical examination shows, no ballroom dancing, just pure unadulterated graphic violence, endless international tension and inside jobs within the White House.

Snake watched as Jack ran into a construction site, seeking cover from the terrorist's gunfire behind a pile of concrete blocks. He was now on his cell phone again, arguing with Chloe on how to unlock the laptop's encoded data, which pertained to the terrorist's plot.

Jack must've either had one heck of a cell phone plan or maybe he derived sexual pleasure getting into arguments with people on his phone, Snake just couldn't figure out which was the case.

Just as Jack was about to unlock the laptop's data, the television screen went completely black.

Crap, the satellite was out. At this point, Snake was so furious he threw his remote out of a nearby window, knocking a poor, defenseless old lady who was tending her garden to the ground. No doubt some weirdo in tin foil was probably using his satellite dish to contact alien invaders on the dark side of the moon.

He pulled himself from the sofa once more, walked to his front door and opened it, stepping out into the sunny afternoon. It really was a nice day; too bad he couldn't just sit down and enjoy 24.

Snake went into his tool shed, which was not too far from the nearby lakefront and came out with a tall ladder. Walking back to the log cabin, he placed the ladder against the cabin and climbed up.

"Alright, E.T.," growled Snake in his most gravelly voice. "I'll tell you where to phone home to-"

Instead of some crazy guy in tin foil, there stood an even stranger scene:

Kirby stood on the roof, dressed in a chef's hat. On Snake's dish he was cooking a slab of bacon, a half-dozen of eggs and some biscuits.

The man climbed up on the rooftop, watching as Kirby seasoned the eggs with a pepper mill. The puffball turned to Snake, using his spatula to pick up a couple bacon strips.

"Poyo?" he asked as he offered the bacon to the man.

Snake pushed it aside. "Get off my roof."

It didn't take much guessing to figure out that Kirby wasn't happy with Snake's demand. He kicked the man in the stomach, which nearly made Snake fall off the roof.

Snake tackled Kirby and both of them rolled on the roof, punching and kicking each other. Eventually, both of them rolled off of the roof, right on top of the old lady Snake had threw his remote at earlier. Her arthritis was the least of her concerns now.

The two resumed their battle. Kirby smacked Snake upside the head with a shovel, knocking the man to the ground. Kirby then dragged Snake over to the old lady's compost heap and beat the poor guy's face to the pile of decomposing waste.

This went on for a couple minutes until Kirby dropped Snake's dirty head in the pile. The puffball's unseen nose picked up a heavenly smell.

"Poyoooooo!" the puffball moaned in ecstasy. Forgetting Snake, he ran off to Lucas' house, where the smell originated.

Snake pulled his head from the compost heap and wiped the muck from his eyes, only to see Kirby throw himself through the front window of Lucas' house. Then he heard Lucas' parents screaming as the hungry puffball sucked both them and their oxtail stew in his huge mouth.

The man raised his hands helplessly. "Oh well," he said. "At least there's no pain where they are now."

Snake wearily shook his head and slowly walked to his patio, which faced the lake. There he plopped himself down on a lounge chair, lit a cigarette and watched the setting sun. Maybe he hadn't been able to watch much television and his face may be covered in rabbit scat and rotten leaves, but at least he could watch the sun set.

It really was a beautiful twilight; the sky was deep reds and oranges. It rippled beautifully on the lake and cast a strange backdrop against the tall trees of the woodland. It was a truly gorgeous sight; Snake was glad that despite the constant interruptions he was able to enjoy this.

* * *

Meanwhile across the lake, Wario was speeding like an old lady to a shoe sale down a forest highway in his environmentally-friendly Wario Car (It only emitted enough carbon dioxide to kill a poor, defenseless baby seal in Antarctica). In his back seat lay a large pile of bananas, which was the reason why an irate Diddy Kong was pursuing him.

The monkey followed in close pursuit in a kart he had stolen from the golf course, where Wario had swiped Diddy's banana stash while he busy was beating up his caddy. He looked about as mad as a little monkey could be and pulled out two peanut popguns hidden under his driver's seat.

"Give me back my stash!" shouted Diddy Kong. "Or I'll bust a peanut in yo' (Censored)!"

Wario, who had a banana sticking out of his mouth like a cigar, laughed as he drove on. He wasn't laughing when one of Diddy's peanuts took off the rearview mirror on the driver's side. As they came to a turn in the road, a banana peel fell on Wario's face, covering his eyes.

In the confusion, he drove off of the road through a recreational park, running over several people and dogs. After blazing through the park, Wario managed to pick the peel off of his face, only to see that he was about to drive off of a pier.

"WAH!" cried Wario as he flew over the pier, soaring into the heavens.

* * *

Snake was still gazing at the setting sun when he saw an object in the sky. He was so horrified that he threw his cigarette in the old lady's yard (as if she hasn't suffered enough) and jumped as far as he could from the cabin.

Wario's car came crashing into the roof of Snake's cabin. Snake stood dumbfounded on the lakeshore as he watched his beloved log cabin collapse into a pile of toothpicks.

Running as fast as he could, Snake dashed to his former hideaway. As he approached, he saw that the Wario Car was smashed into a cozy, flaming cube and that its driver was sitting nearby, eating a banana and scratching his posterior.

Ever since the day Colonel Campbell hit Snake over the head with a frying pan, stuffed him into a box and shipped him to Nintendo's worldwide headquarters, he had never liked Wario. He could never put his finger on why. Maybe it was the fact Wario was a filthy, obnoxious oaf who sat on his butt all day eating garlic or maybe it was because he threw farts that would make Godzilla cry for Momma. It was one of those mysteries of life that no one would ever know.

Snake pulled a 9mm out of his pajama bottoms and trained it on Wario. "Don't move, ugly," he said, his finger on the trigger.

Wario let the banana he was eating drop to the ground. Snake still trained his gun on the fat man, waiting.

Just then, a large rumble was heard from within Wario's stomach. His stomach began to grow like a balloon filling with helium. Snake was too horrified to shoot; he knew what was coming.

Next thing he knew, a sound like a foghorn was heard accompanied by a huge yellow cloud of questionable nature and a funky smell.

Snake dropped to the ground, holstering his 9mm and trying his best not to inhale the gas. He was just thankful that he wasn't blown away. After all, Wario was the guy who once ate three-bean chili in Toronto and threw such a powerful fart that he leveled the entire city.

After about five minutes, the air cleared. Snake picked himself off the ground.

Snake looked down at the remains of the cabin as tears stung his eyes. There was nothing left. It was gone, all gone. His television, his bag of kettle corn, his Phil Collins CDs, his box collection, so many beautiful memories all destroyed.

But then he saw a wonderful sight, like a lighthouse to a sailor in a storm: standing where his bedroom once was stood a single cardboard box. Unlike normal men, Snake slept in a box instead of a bed. He believed that it helped him develop a deep, spiritual connection to the way of the box. Seeing his box gave Snake a newfound hope.

Even though he couldn't enjoy his reruns of 24, even though his face was covered in compost, even though his log cabin was turned into a lumberjack's best friend and even though he still couldn't get rid of the stench of Wario's farts in his nose, Solid Snake was grateful that his box had survived.

Staggering weakly, Snake came up to his box and wrapped his arms around it.

There was one consolation to the day's events; thankfully nobody seemed to notice his fuzzy bunny slippers.

Just then, three teenage boys walked past. They stopped to stare at the heartwarming scene as Snake hugged his box.

"Hey, check this out," said a boy with bushy blonde hair. "That guy's makin' out with a box."

"Aw, isn't that special?" said a boy with black hair. "He's found love."

"And take a look at those girly slippers!" laughed a boy with brown hair.

Snake pulled away from his box. Normally, he would have pulled out a gun , grabbed his camcorder and chased the boys, but today was different. Today Snake was going to let it slide. Besides, his camcorder was probably destroyed anyway.

Oh, what the heck?

Snake pulled his 9mm out and fired a practice shot over the boy's heads. Then they ran like scared deer as Snake reloaded his gun.

"Get back here, you punks!" he screamed running after them, waving his gun wildly. "Don't think you can outrun me!"

He fired at them again. "Just be glad I forgot my drill!"

* * *

Three Months Later…

Solid Snake managed to make enough money to rebuild his log cabin by becoming a children's musician, graphically retelling his violent, M-Rated adventures to an EC-Rated audience. It was safe to say that senate subcommittees loved him. He topped charts worldwide with his number-one hit "Revolver Ocelot Got His Hand Cut Off".

Frustrated by his failed attempts working for Gadd Cleaning Services and still recovering from the numerous wolf-bites he received after Snake dragged him into the bushes, Luigi sold himself out to a certain evil, heartless multinational retailer obsessed with world domination.

After his publicly televised divorce with wife Jigglypuff, Kirby further explored his culinary skills by becoming a TV chef. Unfortunately, he accidentally ate the audience, which led to him checking himself in to rehab. That too ended in disaster, as he ended up eating his beloved counselor Dr. Mario.

Wario took first place in a presidential candidate look-alike contest impersonating Hillary Clinton. In fact, people liked him so much he was elected president, primarily because he had atomic fart powers that would move America forward.

Feeling the fallout of losing his banana stash to Wario, Diddy Kong faked his death, collected a hefty life insurance policy, changed his name to D. James Kong and bought an overly-lavish mansion with gold toilets. He then used his newfound wealth to court the lovely Gladys J. Rutherford-Winklebottom, also known as that old lady who lived next door to Snake. They both married and lived happily ever after, until Gladys killed Diddy and stole his fortune.

* * *

A/N: No animals were hurt during the making of this story. Well, there were those dogs Wario ran over, and some moles probably got scorched when Snake threw his cigarette at that old lady's house, but who's keeping count?


End file.
